Air
by adrine R.227
Summary: A one shot of Ezio running across the rooftops and enjoying the Assassin;s lifestyle.


The pounding of his heart was almost as frequent as the pounding of his feet. They made clattering noises as they hit the roof tiles, sometimes they even broke a tile or two, but that was normal. Besides, the terra cotta orange of the tiles was a welcome sight from all the blue. Blue above and below and everywhere in the streets. Even the guards currently chasing him wore blue. Not that blue was a bad color of course, it was just that it was _everywhere_ in Venezia.

The assassin came to a halt as he neared the edge of the roof. It was the end in the line of houses that he had been running atop of, but that didn't concern him at all. In fact, it excited him. The Florentine smiled, and then spun around to face the guards. They were only but meters away and when they realized they had him cornered, they smiled and jeered. The guards edged closer, and began drawing weapons from their scabbards. One of the men rushed forward and leaped at the assassin, wanting to get the first strike, but when he got there, there was nothing but thin air.

The man stood a moment, dazed, as the wind ruffled the fabric of his uniform, and looked around him. He saw only his comrades and birds.

Ezio let out a whoop of joy as he felt that same wind rush through his hair as it pushed back his hood and around his body exhilarating him and frightening him at the same time. This was the reason he loved his job. Helping people in need and fighting for a greater good was all well and fine, but there was nothing he enjoyed more than the sheer _freedom_ of it.

Ice engulfed him as he sunk into the canal. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the combined rush of jumping and the cold water made him giddy. He resurfaced and looked about him. It was empty and silent. Perfect. He swam over to a dilapidated house and hauled himself up onto the protruding pylons of a long forgotten dock. The wet wood creaked slightly under his weight, but made no movement. He continued climbing up the house, picking his way through iron works and window sills alike to reach his destination: a nearby tower that glowed red in the setting sun.

A loose brick gave way beneath the assassin, making him revert his attention the molding and faded mortar in front of him. The tightening of his figure as he tensed to compensate for the lack of support was visible, but he hauled himself into a small portico and sat beside an broken off hunk of granite that once resembled a small statuette of the Madonna. He took a few deep breaths, then stood up as much as was allowed in the niche, twisting his body around so that he faced upward and towards the wall, making his cape flutter in the breeze. The young man scanned the wall, looking for a handhold on which he could use to pull himself out of the grotto. Finding nothing suitable above him, he scanned to the sides; perhaps he could use one there. But the closest one was still a few yards away.

He crouched, waiting a few moments as he sized his target, then exploded, jumping to the handhold, and just barely catching it, his momentum carrying his body into the wall, making a thudding noise as flesh and mortar connected. He winced, but continued on his way. He never slowed or faltered as he climbed, going on a steady pace. The top of the wall was now close, and soon victory was at hand. One last hoist and the man was at the top. He stopped a moment, collecting his thoughts and his breath. The adrenaline was begging to wear off, but only slightly, he still felt as if he could go for miles. He surveyed the surrounding area and smiled softly to himself again. This particular roof was elevated above the rest of the villas, so he could see all the way out into the small, make-shift bay of Venice. The sea breeze rolled over him, bringing with it the scents of salt, wood and the faintest hint of the exotic spices that were constantly in motion in and out of the harbor.

The assassin moved towards the tower that he had sighted earlier, glad that he wouldn't have to begin climbing at street level. He jumped, grabbing the edge of a protruding platform, and heaved himself so that he was crouching on the platform. A forgotten hammer rattled as his weight shook the wood, making an odd tinkling noise. He ignored it and scanned above him, looking for the next step up. He grabbed an embedded iron rung and positioned his foot on a projecting stone. He repeated this process constantly, hauling, jumping, looking, and shuffling, until he reached the top.

An eagle, which had been roosting on an outlying beam, startled and took off squawking. He walked over the beam, and jumped up and on to it. He held onto the edge of the rampart behind him and leaned out over the city. He closed his eyes, and let go of the rampart. He pitched forward, but only momentarily. He regained his balance, eyes still closed, just sitting there and enjoying the height. The young assassin opened his eyes and shifted his weight so that he was sitting on the beam. The people down below him now seemed small and inconsequential. He was alone, with only the eagle still circling far above him to keep him company. He stood back up and walked to the edge, looking down the tower towards what seemed like a miniscule bale of hay below that was supposed to save him from breaking his neck. He laughed to himself. His profession required a certain kind of bravery that was bordering stupidity, which he most certainly possessed. He took a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill him with a certain kind of weightlessness and closed his eyes, leaning forward.

He relaxed as gravity took over, making everything go by in slow motion and hyper-speed at the same time. The feeling of the wind everywhere was something that only one who had experienced it could describe properly. It was terror and freedom and exhilaration and peace all at the same time. It was the closest thing he had come to flying in all his life so far, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. He wouldn't trade this life for anything.

_**Hai Gaiz! So this kinda just popped into my head. It was basically a descriptive exercise. It's supposed to be a little after Ezio arrives in Venice, most certainly before the Leonardo flying machine mission, or else I wouldn't be able to put in that little comment about flying in the end there. I'm a little iffy about how it turned out. But oh well. Hope you liked it!**_


End file.
